Clean Slate
by Lalaith Quetzalli
Summary: (One Shot) John met a few people during his army days who had nothing to do with the army, a few with quite exceptional abilities and connections. And one of them was willing to pay back the debt owed by helping John save Sherlock's life... all they needed to do, was die... (Begins during imprisonment) HLV Fix-It - Slash - Minor xover with Nolan's Batman


As always I don't own Sherlock... don't own Nolan's Batman trilogy either. I use it very lightly here and I think you can understand the piece even if you haven't seen the movies (though it'd help, of course).

There's no Beta, I am Mexican, all mistakes are my own, sorry about that.

* * *

 **Clean Slate**

 _"My brother has the brain of a scientist or a philosopher yet he elects to be a detective. What might we deduce about his heart?" MH_

John Watson, former army doctor, former captain (and, unknown to all but a select few, former Intelligence Officer in the service of MI6), sat in the too-big armchair right before the fire in his home's living-room... Or perhaps that was the wrong way to put it; since he hadn't chosen that armchair, the place wasn't actually his, and it had never really felt like home, not in the way 221B Baker Street once had. In any case, that changed facts little; and in that moment the most important fact was the sheet of paper in his hand, or what was written on it: the paternity test for the baby Mary Watson (or whatever her real name might be) carried inside her...

They'd gone in for an ultrasound just the day before, and John had insisted on Mary getting all kinds of tests done 'to make sure the recent events hadn't affected her or the baby in any way'. It hadn't been that hard, once they were all distracted, to add an order for a paternity test to the list. He'd picked up the results for all the tests after finishing work at the clinic that evening, and handed all but the paternity one to Mary the moment he stepped into the house.

The results were quite good where Mary and the baby were concerned, and regarding the paternity... well, John couldn't say the thought hadn't crossed his mind, there was a reason he'd wanted the test done. And there it was, the confirmation he was waiting for, in black and white: 'Alleged Relationship Probability: 0.00%'.

Bottom line, the baby wasn't his... John had an idea of who the real father was... after all, what kind of woman kept such a tight relationship with her ex, going as far as to invite him to her wedding to another man?

Still, if John Watson was honest with himself, it didn't really bother him. If anything it was one less things to hold him back. If he were to admit to the truth, he hadn't really loved Mary (AGRA or whatever) for months, not since she'd put a bullet in his best friend's (companion, partner, more?) chest, almost killing him... twice over.

He would be going as far as leaving her that very night (threats and assassin past be damned) if it weren't for one very specific detail: he couldn't go to Sherlock. He couldn't because Sherlock Holmes wasn't home, wasn't at Baker Street, no, instead he was in some dark cell deep in HM Prison Belmarsh, for the murder of the media magnate (and blackmailer) Charles Augustus Magnussen. A crime he'd committed for John (like he was going to believe he'd done it for the woman who practically killed him... no, whenever Sherlock did something stupid it was always for John... and wasn't that a heady thought?).

John's increasingly morose line of thought was unexpectedly derailed when his brain picked up on something that was being said on the telly (he had it on, a news channel, but hadn't been really paying attention to it). Even in that moment he didn't really listen to the woman speaking, instead focusing completely on the video-clip that kept repeating behind her over and over: which begins with a stand off between a group of federal agents and buses full of civilians, most of them children, an aerial view of a city taken hostage; and then there's suddenly a huge black helicopter flying away from the people carrying some unknown device to the open sea, only to blow up completely several miles out. The bar at the bottom of the screen explained where and when it all took place: 'Gotham, two days ago...'

"Oh God, Bruce..." John gasped, horrified.

Most people (no one, really) wouldn't know it, but John Watson knew Bruce Wayne; he also knew Batman. What was more important, he knew that both were one and the same.

Their first meeting had been completely accidental. On break from the army and with no desire to go back to London, he'd instead chosen to spend the time in Nepal. He'd met a scruffy-looking man, helped him when a dozen or so armed men went against him (John hadn't even thought about it, it'd been completely instinctive).

He'd shared his food and supplies with the man and it wasn't until months later (back in the barracks) that a package had arrived from him, it wasn't from Harry, or from the UK at all. No, it was from America, in thanks for the 'help provided to a man in need'; the package included food, clothes and even safety gear for him. John hadn't actually known who sent it, though.

Sometime later, while working with MI6, he'd been sent to America on a fact-finding mission. He was to go to Gotham under the guise of attending some events hosted by Wayne Enterprises regarding business with the UK and the rest of Europe; while there he was to investigate Bruce Wayne and his stance on things. Also, if at all possible, he was to find the vigilante called Batman and find out as much as he could about him.

He'd gone back to M two weeks later reporting on a Bruce Wayne who had some interesting ideas, but no experience on how to put any of them into practice; which explained him putting so much money into an R&D department that had been defunct since long before he'd even returned to Gotham. And while Batman could certainly be a concern, he had no interest beyond the limits of his city, so they need not concern themselves with him either.

What John told no one was that he'd recognized Bruce Wayne as the same scruffy-looking man he'd saved in Nepal. And after a rather interesting meeting with the Batman he'd eventually discovered his true identity. In the end, M didn't need to know any of that, not at all.

That wasn't the last time he'd met Bruce either. He'd seen him twice more since. Once eight years prior, Albert had called him requesting his services as a doctor with enough urgency that John had filed for emergency leave (citing an American relative with no immediate family who'd suffered an accident and needed help). He'd done his best to treat an awful injury on Bruce's leg, and had warned the man that another injury like that might leave him with a permanent limp (which, according to an e-mail from Alfred, had happened just three years later).

The last time he'd seen Bruce was just the week before. The man appeared in his clinic (Mycroft had insisted that he continued with his routine, regardless of what was going on with Sherlock) and requested that John do a full physical on him. After explaining exactly what had happened, and how he'd recovered his mobility the doctor couldn't be sure which feeling was stronger: his marvel or his horror. In any case, it turned out that while his body had certainly suffered a great deal of trauma, Bruce was recovered enough to proceed with his insane plan (which John didn't approve of at all... though of course the other man hadn't really been looking for such).

And to find out that his friend had died (because John knew the helicopter was his... or Batman's, though it amounted to the same in the end).

As if on cue, John's mobile rang right then. He didn't even pay attention to the fact that there was no number on the screen before answering it:

"Hello...? Bruce!" John can hardly contain the relief and honest joy he feels at hearing his friend's voice on the other end of the line. "Oh I'm so glad you're alive... did you really need to be that dramatic though? … Alright, alright, not over the phone, I get it... No, I'm afraid I cannot meet you tonight... I told you last week I'm being watched, and with what you've told me thus far it wouldn't be good for those watching me to see you... Go into the clinic, I know you can do that without being noticed. Just be careful of the CCTV cameras. I'll see you early in the morning. I've no patients until almost noon so we ought to have time to do whatever it is you need... Yes, I promise, your secret's safe with me... See you in the morning then."

 **xXx**

As expected, Bruce was right there when John entered his office in the small practice where he worked, early the next morning; what wasn't quite as expected was the fact that he wasn't alone, sitting near him was a woman with long, perfectly straight dark brown hair cascading down her back, chocolate eyes and an almost aristocratic profile.

"Bruce...?" John asked, quietly so as not to call the attention of the personnel outside.

"This is Selina." He said by way of introduction. "I would like full physicals for the both of us. Things got a bit... tricky in the end back in Gotham and I'd rather make sure we won't be having some trouble or other down the road."

"Of course." John nodded immediately. "You do realize though, that some of the exams needed, especially concerning radioactive poisoning and the like, will take several days to come back, and I cannot possibly conduct all of them in this office?"

"I know." Bruce nodded, before handing him two IDs. "The results are important though, not just for our own health but to help secure our new identities."

John realized what he meant, as the names on the IDs read: Bruce Dawes and Selina Tate-Dawes. John arched a brow but did not ask. Instead he just got to work.

It was a couple of hours before all the tests that could be done right away were finished, and then Bruce insisted on buying lunch for all three of them. John took them to Angelo's, not quite realizing what they were doing until they were already there and the owner had guided them to Sherlock's usual table.

"What's going on?" Bruce asked in a demanding tone as soon as they were left to talk in private.

"What...?" John wasn't expecting that.

"Both Selina and I have noticed, something is going on." Bruce insisted, more softly that time.

"Even the owner seems to be reacting to it." Selina added for good measure.

"Angelo is an old friend of Sherlock's..." John said almost automatically, before forcing himself to swallow through a lump in his throat. "Remember what I told you about my friend who got in serious trouble?"

"You said he killed someone, that he'd no other choice." Bruce nodded calmly.

"I'm sure you know there's more than that..." John said stoically.

Bruce didn't try to deny it, instead he simply began reciting everything there was to know about Magnussen, Sherlock and what had happened at Appledore, even some things that hadn't been made known to the public. Like Magnussen being a blackmailer or the fact that there was no trial taking place... Not that John was actually surprised Bruce knew, he'd always been good at finding information, especially the kind others wouldn't want him to have.

"Sounds like your friend did the world a favor by getting rid of the rat." Selina deadpanned.

"You would think so." John snorted. "However, since authorities refuse to admit that Magnussen ever blackmailed any of them, the man remains spotless..."

"Which marks Holmes as a criminal." Bruce finished for him.

"I've called Mycroft several times, he insists there's nothing he can do to help Sherlock, neither can the Met or anyone else I know." John let out a half-sigh, half-sob. "At this point I'm just waiting for him to be sentenced... something tells me it won't be good."

"Prison for life is the most likely outcome at this point." Bruce stated bluntly.

"Death." The doctor practically hissed.

"There's no death penalty in the UK." Selina blurted, shocked by John's tone.

"Not technically." The former-military said darkly. "But you don't know Sherlock like I do. He will not survive long in prison. His mind will rot, or at least will begin to... he will probably kill himself out of boredom before too long. That is, of course, if his attitude doesn't get him killed in there any sooner..."

Neither of the others bothered asking if he was sure, Selina didn't know him enough, and Bruce, being the exact opposite, knew and trusted the man's judgement enough to take his words for fact.

For close to a minute not a word was said, as the three continued eating in silence (though John mostly moved the food around the plate).

"So, in few words, your friend is going to die no matter what..." Bruce said suddenly.

John opened his mouth to retort angrily at his friend, before visibly deflating as he realized there was no point, it wasn't like Bruce was saying anything he didn't know already.

"Perhaps it would help if it happened sooner, rather than later." Bruce said next, in a tone so easy it should have sounded completely wrong... yet it somehow didn't.

John's head shot up so fast his neck actually ached, he'd just opened his mouth, again, to say something properly scathing, when he finally noticed the odd glint in his friend's eyes; and while he was no Sherlock, he knew when someone was planning something (almost always something beyond insane...).

"I owe you my life John, several times over." Bruce continued once he had their full attention. "You know this, even if you refuse to accept it. And now I might finally be able to pay you back."

John didn't ask what he meant, it was quite obvious, and as much as Bruce might usually fight for justice (even if no one actually called Batman a hero, deep down that's what he'd been), John knew better than most the kind of things Bruce was capable of (and willing).

"What must I do?" The doctor asked simply, readying himself for whatever might come.

The answer still caught him by surprise, though:

"You need to die."

 **xXx**

Mycroft was having a bad day. One might argue that every day since his brother had decided it was a good idea to shoot Charles Augustus Magnussen in the head, and in view of nearly a dozen policemen as well as a handful of Secret Service Agents and Mycroft himself, was a bad day. But that one was particularly bad. They were practically at the end of the rainy season, and yet the last three days it seemed like it would never stop. It was causing a lot of trouble, not just the storms themselves, but the sewer system was failing in certain areas, there were localized spots in London and the surrounding areas where people kept complaining of everything from leaking roofs to downright flooding... not to mention the effect that much water had on the Thames!

The most recent mess was the big hole that had appeared in Gallions Park; and as if that weren't enough, the house right across from that spot, on Winchat Road, appeared to have half collapsed as well. Thankfully there had been no one inside; that would have doubled the paperwork, which was going to be bad enough if Mycroft's suspicions were correct (and they always were) and it turned out that foundation of the house had been made of sub-par materials.

Even with all of that, nothing could have prepared Mycroft for just how bad things were going to get, not until his PA rushed into his office, looking flustered in a way she'd never been before, calling for him like normal people would call to their gods.

"Settle down!" He ordered her, softly but authoritatively. "What's happened?"

"I just received a call sir, Priority 1." She informed him, taking deep breaths to recover her composure. "There's been a cave-in."

"I've been informed, yes." He nodded. "It's going to be problematic, but there was no one in that house, so there should be no long-term trouble..."

"No sir." His PA interrupted, wincing at her own actions. "Not the house... the prison. There was a cave-in at Belmarsh."

Mycroft froze completely, some might argue he even stopped breathing as he waited for his PA, his most trusted to finish the report.

"There's one prisoner reported dead sir." She went on, more softly than before. "According to reports, the cave-in caused the ground in solitary to collapse straight into the sewer system, which was already overflowing. The inmate has been reported to have drowned; his foot got trapped beneath some rocks of the other two cave-ins, making it impossible for him to get out in time."

"And Sherlock...?" Mycroft asked as stoically as he could.

"He's reported missing, sir." She said quietly.

Though, of course, he'd been the only other person locked up in solitary, and if the ground had collapsed from the whole area it was only to be expected that he'd gone down as well. They hadn't found him yet, though considering the other two cave-ins and everything else going on already, Mycroft knew the chances of his brother being safe and stranded (or god-forbid hiding somewhere) were less than 5%...

Still, Mycroft Holmes knew better than anyone how strong his brother was, all the times he'd surpassed expectations, gone against the odds. So he devoted the next three days to coordinating efforts to solve things in Winchat Road. Outwardly he was keeping the people happy, working on what troubled them; in reality all he cared was about finding out what had happened to his little brother that night.

In was near the end of the third day when he found the bloody remains of a prison uniform (what could be salvaged of the DNA marked the blood as belonging to Sherlock Holmes). The rescue team also found hair trapped in some bloody stones and dirt. No body was found, but even Mycroft could read in between the lines. Even if Sherlock had been lucky enough to survive the cave-ins, the current in the sewers would have dragged him straight into the Thames, and regardless of how good a swimmer the consulting detective might be, there was no surviving an overflowing river in the middle of a storm as bad as the one that night had been. Which meant that Sherlock Holmes was dead... his brother was dead.

"John's gonna be devastated..." He heard his PA murmur quietly once the pronouncement had been officially made.

Mycroft winced (if only on the inside), he'd been so focused on Sherlock he'd managed to forget John completely. He couldn't imagine how the doctor was going to react. It'd been bad enough after the situation with Moriarty, years before; and this one was so much worse. He wondered if John would believe him if he were to say they had faked Sherlock's death and sent him away to keep him from prison. It's not like John would try to find him, he had a wife, and a child on the way. He would tell John that the only way for his brother to stay safe was for no one to know the truth, for John to keep the secret, and not look for the detective; and John cared so much for Sherlock that he would accept... after all, hadn't he been wishing for Mycroft to do something to save Sherlock, anything at all?

The eldest Holmes watched, from the corner of his eye, as his PA took a call discretely, nodding almost to herself before hanging up.

"Detective Inspector Lestrade is here to see you, sir." She informed him, adopting the mask of the perfectly composed assistant.

Mycroft considered briefly if the DI might know something. Sherlock's involvement in Charles Magnussen's death had been kept a secret, for everyone's sake; the last thing they needed was for some opportunistic bastard who knew nothing about the circumstances surrounding Sherlock's actions to take advantage of the situation to cast a shadow on all the good his brother had done in his years solving crimes (wouldn't be the first time, but still). John was the only one besides him and his PA who even knew where Sherlock was, and he trusted both of them to keep things to themselves when it was necessary. And yet, for what other reason could DI Lestrade possibly be looking for him at that time of the night?

"Gregory..." Mycroft began in a well-rehearsed tone, briefly considering testing his 'story' on the DI before trying to convince John with it.

What he wasn't expecting was for the other man to be so completely focused in something else.

"Have you seen John?" Lestrade half-asked, half-demanded, not even concerning himself with greetings and mundane pleasantries first.

"John...?" Mycroft had most definitely not seen that one coming.

"Yes, John Watson." Lestrade drawled a bit. "Have you seen him?"

"I know what John you speak of." Mycroft thought about pointing out that despite the name being fairly common, it wasn't like they both knew many men with it. "And no, I haven't seen him, or spoken to him for that matter, in several days."

"When was the last time you heard from him?" Lestrade inquired next.

"Five days ago or so." The eldest Holmes answered after actually stopping and considering it for a moment. "We talked over the phone briefly."

"Do you still keep watch over his place?"

It was at that point that Holmes confirmed something was definitely off. While Lestrade knew what he was capable of, regarding the CCTV, they never spoke of it, unless it was absolutely necessary... either for a case, or Sherlock, or both at the same time.

"The cameras around his place failed almost a week ago, malfunction caused by lightning. It happened in several areas around the city. Hasn't been fixed yet." He explained with a light shrug. "What is going on Gregory?"

"John Watson is missing, apparently has been missing for three or four days now." Lestrade stated, hesitating for a moment before adding. "I fear he might be dead."

That gave Mycroft pause, as a dozen thoughts fought for dominance in his mind: John Watson dead? How? Who?! How hadn't he known? Was it a coincidence? And really, he should have noticed something was off earlier, John had been calling him every other day since Sherlock had been taken from Appledore, and then not a word in the last four days...? Also, John had known about Sherlock being in Belmarsh, would have called him the moment the cave-ins in the area were on the news, and the elder Holmes had never noticed it when he didn't... Mycroft had really been remiss in his duties.

"What makes you think he's dead?" He decided to ask what he saw as the most important question first.

"I've looked for him everywhere I know, I cannot find him." The DI informed him. "Mrs. Hudson hasn't seen him either. Sarah says he hasn't been to work all week... in fact, she was the one to report him missing yesterday."

"What about Mary?" Mycroft inquired, stoically.

"Nothing, she apparently hasn't the slightest idea." The eldest Holmes was almost sure the DI snorted right then. "She couldn't even tell us for sure when she last spoke to her husband, and about what. I'm telling you Mycroft, something is really wrong in that house. I knew from the very beginning that there was something... just not right with their marriage. And now this?"

"That's only circumstantial at best, I'm surprised by you, Detective Inspector." Holmes stated in a somewhat chastising tone.

"It's all circumstantial right now, but once things begin piling up..." He pulled out several papers and began enlisting. "According to Sarah, John had several patients lined up for these days, so it's not like he planned to leave. Matter of fact, John actually phoned Harry, they were supposed to meet for lunch tomorrow, he told her he needed to tell her something important; Harry believes it was related to Mary, says her brother sounded really forlorn..." He let out a breath before offering Mycroft a piece of paper. "And then we have this."

The elder Holmes needed no explanation about what he was being handed, it was written right there, at the very top of the page: Paternity Test... one that apparently showed John wasn't the father of Mary's baby... Mycroft had actually suspected that, and he was sure Sherlock had as well, but for John to go as far as have a paternity test done... It suddenly occurred to the politician to wonder if Mary had found out, after the fact (because she obviously hadn't known beforehand, if she had she'd have either found a way to falsify the results, or would have 'persuaded' John into not making the test in the end). But maybe he'd found out, afterwards, realized her ruse was up and, then what? Had she snapped? Could she have attacked, possibly even kill her husband? Was that why she didn't report him missing?

A look at DI Lestrade showed that the older man had thought of that very possibility himself. Yet he had no concrete proof; and from what Mycroft knew about AGRA's past... if she had done it, they probably would never find any. Though that certainly wouldn't stop him from making her pay, he still owed her for shooting his brother; back then he'd held back for John (and on her brother's own insistence, as Sherlock hadn't wanted to cause any hurt to his best friend), but since neither of them were around any longer to stop him...

In the end, the facts remained the same, both Sherlock and John were gone, and Mycroft hadn't been able to do anything about it, which was a blow to both his pride and his heart (much as he might claim not to have one). He hadn't been able to help save their lives, but he would make sure the world never forgot them... maybe it was time some truths came out to the light...

 **xXx**

A book was published a year later; written in collaboration by Mrs. Hudson, Molly Hooper, Angelo, Harry Watson, the Holmes, DI Lestrade and his team and a number of other former classmates or old members of Sherlock's Homeless Network. It was called _The Last Deduction_ , and it told the true story of two men that had been sorely missed for the last year: John Watson and Sherlock Holmes.

It really was a true story, no holds barred. Full of quotes from people who had known both men at different points of their lives. Nothing was held back, either good or bad, for it all contribute to the whole, to showing who those two men had been and that regardless of how they might have been apart (either before they first met, or during their separation), together they were simply amazing, the perfect team. (There were even rumors that some of the quotes had been given by the Woman...).

The last chapters were of particular interest, as they told the story of Moriarty's web, culminating with the mess that had been the assassin addressed simply as AGRA (who was long since gone, courtesy of the British Government) and Charles Augustus Magnussen.

That last piece had been particularly hard. Even with the man dead, most people weren't sure about revealing the truth about him. But Mycroft had been stubborn about it, he wouldn't allow his brothers legacy to be that of a murderer, he had killed yes, but always to serve and protect, much like John Watson. In the end Lady Smallwood had helped him, she shared his thoughts on the matter of that monster, and found satisfaction in the belief that her husband had been avenged, even if two more people had died before the end.

Soon the book was being read by nearly all of London, as people came to learn what had been behind the famous Consulting Detective and his loyal friend. As well as the reason why they were no longer around.

Eventually the day came, the anniversary of the 'official death'; the day when the paperwork was finished and both Sherlock Holmes and John Watson were declared death. No bodies were found for either of them, but Mrs. Hudson had been insistent that there should be a tombstone, so one had been arranged, with the names of both of them. Many went to visit it, not just family and close friends, but old acquaintances, former clients, and even members of the fan-base that had created around John's blog. Which seemed to have only grown since John's last post, the day before the cave-ins and Sherlock's own death:

" _Everything I am, I owe to Sherlock. My best-friend, my partner, my balance... Come what may, I will always believe in Sherlock Holmes."_

In the following weeks and months the same closing phrase had appeared spray painted in walls, fences and the like all throughout London.

The whole thing sometimes made Mycroft wonder if John had somehow known Sherlock was going to die... and himself? It somehow didn't seem right, the elder Holmes did not understand, he felt like he was missing data.

Late in the evening, Mycroft finally retired to his flat. Anna (he was the only one who knew her real name) was already in her sleeping clothes, sitting at the end of the bed, seemingly waiting for him. Some would say that the loss of his brother had woken Mycroft in ways nothing else could have. He'd become more ruthless in some ways, giving his enemies less chances and pushing more to get what he wanted (it was how he managed to get that book published despite the somewhat sensitive information included in a few chapters). Though, those who knew him enough would say he'd also become softer in other ways; like finally admitting his feelings, especially the love he felt for his PA (though no one except Mrs. Hudson, whom they both had tea with every week, even knew they were together).

Mycroft was about to begin undressing when he finally noticed the package on his lover's lap.

"What's that Anna?" He asked, confused (he showed emotion before her in a way he never did with anyone else).

"I don't know." she answered honestly, offering it to him. "It arrived today. It's gone through all the check-ups and been declared safe. From what I've been able to see the package is addressed to you and while there's no official return address, the seal is from somewhere in the Mediterranean."

Mycroft took the package from her, ripping the paper... to find a copy of _The Last Deduction_. Not quite understanding what was going on he opened it to the first page, to find what looked like a dedication (which wasn't in the books being sold), they were actually two sets of quotes:

" _I asked you for one more miracle. I asked you to stop being dead."_

" _I heard you."_

With what he knew, Mycroft assumed those quotes were things Sherlock and John had said to each other after his brother's return from his two year absence... what he didn't know was who could possibly know that, and why would they write it like a sort of dedication in that book. The other set was even worse:

" _All lives end. All hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage."_

" _Sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side."_

Those particular two hadn't been part of a conversation, the first had been said by Mycroft, and the second by Sherlock, though both in conversations concerning the same person: Irene Adler. The thing was, that while the Woman might be able to quote Sherlock's words, as he'd said them before her (and pretty much to her), no one but his brother had ever heard the ones said by Mycroft, there hadn't even been any surveillance where they'd had that conversation. So then how was the sender of that package capable of quoting that?

He was about to ask, when a move from his hands caused what looked like a card to fall from the inside pages of the book. Anna picked it up and handed it to him, what at first sight had looked like a postcard, turned out to be a copy of a photograph... one Mycroft recognized immediately. From what felt like a lifetime before, back when Sherlock had been a young boy, and Mycroft himself little more than a teenager. The photo showed the two of them, standing on board a real pirate ship in the St. Augustine Pirate & Treasure Museum in Florida, during a family vacation. It was the last time Mycroft remembered looking at his brother and seeing a happy, innocent child... it was the last time he himself had felt completely free (before college, and society and the expectations of so many people forced him to create his public persona). He hadn't even known that picture still existed.

And if that weren't enough of a shock, there was a single phrase written in the back, with a handwriting Mycroft could identify as easily as his own.

 _Some lives may begin again, some hearts may heal... Sometimes sentiment is worth it._

Mycroft couldn't help himself, he laughed, like he'd never laughed before.

"Mycroft...?" Anna called to him softly, concerned.

"He's alive!" Mycroft practically shouted, holding the picture tightly yet carefully with both hands. "He's alive... my brother is alive."

Anna had no idea how such a thing was possible, though she did not doubt that if anyone could find a way to cheat death (twice) it would be a Holmes. Though she did wonder if that might mean that, possibly, John himself wasn't as dead either... In the end she didn't say anything, didn't ask any question, she just held her beloved (and even a year later she could hardly believe they had gotten that far), as he let out all the feelings he'd never been able to. That was a good night, it definitely was, and she was happy, for Mycroft and Sherlock both.

 **xXx**

Meanwhile, four people (or more precisely, two couples) sat on a cliff, on the very edge of a villa in South Italy, watching the moonlight dancing over the almost rhythmic waves.

"Are you sure it was a good idea to send that package?" Bruce asked softly. "Someone might use it to try and track you down."

Selina, sitting comfortably between his legs and with her head resting on his muscled chest, snorted quietly. In the relatively short time she'd known Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, she'd learnt they did not do things by half, or leave them to chance. If they had sent that package to Mycroft Holmes (and from him, probably others) in London, they most assuredly did so in a way that would not endanger them in any way.

"Try being the operative word." The former detective said smugly. "I used a series of post-boxes and some contacts I cultivated while hunting Moriarty's web."

"Even if Mycroft does find out where we are, it's not like he cannot keep a secret." His partner, sitting curled up into Sherlock's side.

The original plan had been for the group to split permanently as soon as they left the UK. In fact, they hadn't left together. Bruce had used some of his own contacts to arrange for a way out for the other two, while he and Selina stayed behind; in part because they still had to pick up the results of the tests John had been helping them with, on the other to help build the case of the doctor's disappearance and possible murder.

What was unexpected was when the group met in Lyon and then traveled together to Italy. They were staying in that moment in a property that belonged to Bruce (under an alias). He and Selina though were still planning on traveling around the world together for a while. Sherlock and John for their part intended to find a cottage somewhere nearby (they really liked the area), they had the money for it (most of what they'd earned with high-profile cases through the years, and which Sherlock had kept in a secret account, just in case). They had no idea what they were going to do afterwards, but they had time to make up their minds... they had their whole lives ahead of them. New lives, and clean slates...

* * *

I took a bit of a different route with this one. I'm trying out new ideas. Hope you liked it.

As always, I welcome all comments, constructive criticism, even just a hello. I really hope you're all enjoying this. I certainly enjoying thinking more and more ways in which things could have been different, and crossovers have always been a personal favorite of mine (though right now I'm making a hell of an effort to make sure that even those of you who might not like them, or just not know the fandom will understand everything anyway).

See ya around!


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